Coming Home (151 page)

‘Not usually. But he didn't get to sleep till two this morning. I had a terrible time with him. I think he might be teething.’ Loveday filled the kettle at the sink, and went to put it on the range. ‘To be truthful, I never know when he's going to sleep and when he's awake. He's always been a terror about sleeping. And when he does, I leave him because it's the only bit of peace I get. That's why I was trying to get the ironing done.’

‘Perhaps if we wake him now, he'll be more likely to go to sleep tonight.’

‘Yes. Perhaps.’ But Loveday did not sound too keen on the idea. ‘Once he's up, he's up, and that's it. And it's too wet to put him outside to play.’

But I know well meet again some sunny day,
mooned the wireless. She went over to the dresser and switched it off. ‘Soppy tune. Just listening for a bit of company. I'll clear all this away and make a bit of space for you…’

She began bundling up the unironed washing, but Judith stopped her. ‘I'll do it. Let me finish it while you make the tea. I like ironing. And you wake Nat, and then we can all have tea together…’

‘Are you sure? Seems a bit hard…’

‘What are friends for, dear?’ Judith asked in Mary Millyway's voice, and she picked a crumpled shirt off the top of the pile and spread it out on the board. ‘Is this meant to look immaculate when it's finished? Because if so, I'll have to damp it down a bit.’

‘No. Doesn't matter. Just folded, so that I can get it into Walter's shirt drawer.’ Loveday dumped herself down on the sofa beside her sleeping son. ‘He's wet himself, the little villain.’ But her voice was indulgent. ‘Hey, Nat. Wake up. We're going to have tea.’ She laid a hand on his round stomach, and bent to kiss him. Occupied with Loveday's ironing, Judith thought she looked terrible. She seemed tired out, with dark rings under her eyes. Judith found herself wondering if there ever came a day when the little house was neat, or even moderately clean and tidy, and decided that probably it never did.

Nat's eyes opened. Loveday lifted him and set him on her knee and cuddled him for a bit, talking to him until he was properly awake. Staring about him, he spied Judith. ‘Who that lady?’

‘That's Judith. You met her the other day. At Granny's.’

Nat's dark eyes were like two juicy raisins. ‘I don't amember her.’

‘Well, she remembers you, and she's come to see you.’ She stood, lifting Nat up into her arms. ‘Come along, I'll get your trousers changed.’

‘Can I come too and see the rest of the house?’ Judith asked.

‘No, you can't,’ she was told firmly. ‘It's much too untidy. If you'd told me you were coming I'd have kicked all the clutter under the bed. I need notice before I give guided tours. A bit like a Stately Home. Next time, I'll show you.’

There was a door at the far end of the kitchen, and she disappeared through this, leaving it ajar behind her, so that Judith had a glimpse of the huge brass bedstead. Doing her best to smooth out the wrinkles of the bone-dry, crumpled shirt, she listened to Loveday's voice chatting to Nat. Heard her opening and shutting drawers, running taps, flushing the lavatory. Presently, they returned. Nat, in clean overalls and with his hair brushed, looked as though butter would not melt in his mouth. Loveday set him down on the floor, found a little truck for him to play with, and left him to his own devices.

The kettle was boiling. She reached for the teapot.

‘I've done
one
shirt.’

‘Oh, don't do any more. Switch off the iron. If you want to help, you can lay the table…The cups are in that cupboard. And plates, too. There's a bit of saffron cake in the bread bin, and butter in that dish on the top of the fridge…’

Between them, they assembled a makeshift tea-table, pushing a few papers and
The Farmer's Weekly
to one side in order to make space. Nat was invited to join them but declined, preferring the floor and his truck, which he pushed around the floor making meh-meh-meh noises to make it real. Loveday let him be.

She said, ‘I'm sorry about the mess and not letting you look.’

‘Don't be silly.’

‘I'll give it a spring clean and then send you a formal invitation. It's actually very sweet and the new bathroom's lovely. Tiled and hot pipes for the towels and everything. Darling Pops was really generous. Only thing is, we've only got the one bedroom. I know Nat would sleep better if he was on his own, but there's not much we can do about it.’ She poured Judith's tea. ‘Your house always looks so tidy, not a thing out of place.’

‘That's Phyllis, and we haven't got a lively three-year-old knocking about.’

‘It's never so bad on a good day. He plays out of doors most of the time. But when it's wet, it's impossible, nothing but mud being tracked in and out.’

‘Where's Walter?’

‘Oh, somewhere. Up the top field, I think. He'll be back soon, for the milking.’

‘Do you still help with that?’

‘Sometimes. If Mrs Mudge isn't around.’

‘How about today?’

‘No, not today, thank God.’

‘You're looking tired, Loveday.’

‘So would you if you hadn't got to sleep until three in the morning.’

She fell silent, sitting there with her bony elbows propped on the table-top, her hands wrapped around the mug of hot tea, her eyes downcast. The long, dark lashes lay on her pale cheeks, and Judith looked, and saw to her dismay that they shone with seeping tears.

‘Oh, Loveday.’

Loveday, in a sort of angry denial, shook her head. ‘I'm just tired.’

‘If there's something wrong, you know you can tell me.’

Loveday shook her head again. A tear escaped, dribbled down her cheek. She put up a hand and roughly brushed it away.

‘It's no good keeping things to yourself. It doesn't do any good.’

Loveday said nothing.

‘Is it you and Walter?’ It took some courage to say, because Judith knew she was quite liable to have her head bitten off, but she said it. And it was said. And Loveday hadn't flown at her. ‘Is there something wrong between you?’

Loveday muttered something.

‘I'm sorry?’

‘I said, there's another woman. He's got another woman.’

Judith felt herself go quite weak.

Carefully, she laid her mug on the table. ‘Are you sure?’

Loveday nodded.

‘How do you know?’

‘I know. He's been seeing her. Evenings, at the pub. Sometimes he doesn't get home till all hours.’

‘But how do you
know
?’

‘Mrs Mudge told me.’

‘Mrs Mudge?’

‘Yes. The word got through to her from the village. She told me because she said I ought to know. Have it out with Walter. Tell him to lay off.’

‘Is she on your side, or his?’

‘My side. Up to a point. I think she reckons that if a man goes off chasing a fancy piece, then there's something wrong with his wife.’

‘Why doesn't she give him hell? He's her son.’

‘She says it's not her business to interfere. And I must say, she never has. I'll give her that.’

‘Who
is
this woman?’

‘She's a mess. She came down to Porthkerris during the summer sometime. Turned up with some phony painter or other. From London. She lived with him for a bit, and then they either had a row, or he found someone else, so she moved out on him.’

‘Where's she living now?’

‘In a caravan, up at the back of Veglos Hill.’

‘Where did Walter meet up with her?’

‘Some pub or other.’

‘What's her name?’

‘You're not going to believe this.’

‘Try me.’

‘Arabella Lumb.’

‘It can't be true.’

And suddenly, incredibly, they were both laughing, just for a moment, and Loveday still with tears on her cheeks.

‘Arabella Lumb.’ The name, on repetition, sounded even more unlikely. ‘Have you ever seen her?’

‘Yes, once. She was at Rosemullion one evening, when I went for a beer with Walter. She sat in the corner by the bar all evening, eyeing him, but they didn't talk because
I
was there. Old gooseberry. Getting in the way. She looks like a great bosomy tinker…you know, Mother Earth stuff. Bangles and beads and sandals and green varnish on her rather dirty toe-nails.’

‘She sounds ghastly.’

‘She's sexy, though. It exudes from her. Lush. Like a huge, over-ripe fruit. A sort of excitement. I think the word is “palpable”. Perhaps we should look it up in the dictionary.’

‘No. I think you've got it right.’

‘I have a horrid feeling that Walter is besotted.’ Loveday sat back in her chair and felt in the pocket of her trousers, to produce a battered packet of cigarettes and a cheap lighter. She took one of the cigarettes and lit it. After a moment she said, ‘And I don't know what to do.’

‘Take Mrs Mudge's advice. Have it out with him.’

Loveday sniffed enormously. Then she looked up and, across the table, her lovely eyes met Judith's. ‘I tried last night.’ Her voice was despondent. ‘I was angry and I was fed up. Walter got home at eleven o'clock, and he'd been drinking whisky. I could smell it. When he gets drunk, he gets aggressive, and we had the most terrible row, and we woke Nat up because we were shouting and yelling at each other. And he said he'd do what he bloody pleased, and see who he bloody wanted. And he said it was my fault anyway, because I was such a bloody useless wife and mother, and the cottage is always such a mess, and I can't even cook properly…’

‘That's unkind and unfair.’

‘I know I'm not much good at cooking, but it's horrid being told. And there's another thing. He doesn't like me taking Nat down to Nancherrow. He resents it, I think. As though
he
was being diminished in some way…’

‘Of all men, Walter has no right to have a chip on his shoulder.’

‘He says I'm trying to turn Nat into a little sissy. He wants him to be a Mudge, not a Carey-Lewis.’

It was all understandable, but bewildering too. ‘Does he love Nat?’

‘Yes, when Nat's being good or amusing or funny. Not when he's tired and demanding or needing attention. Sometimes, days go by and Walter doesn't even speak to him. He can be a moody devil. And lately, he's been really impossible.’

‘You mean, since Arabella Lumb came on the scene?’

Loveday nodded.

‘It's surely not serious, Loveday? All men have those dotty times, when they go off the rails and lose all sense. And if
she's
got her big guns trained on him, it doesn't seem to me that he stands much of a chance.’

‘She isn't going to go away, Judith.’

‘She might.’ But even as Judith said this, it didn't sound very hopeful. ‘You've been happy with Walter. I think you've just got to grin and bear it, and wait for him to come to his senses. It's no good having it out, having rows. It'll just make everything worse.’

‘Bit too late to say that.’

‘I'm not being much help, am I?’

‘Yes, you are. Just being able to talk about it helps. The worst is, no one to talk to. Mummy and Pops would’ — she searched for the right word — ‘
explode,
if they knew.’

‘I'm surprised they don't already.’

‘The only person who
might
have got the buzz is Nettlebed. And you and I both know that Nettlebed would never breathe a word to either of them.’

‘No. No, he never would.’

All this time Nat had been lying on his stomach, intent on his game. Now he decided that he was hungry. He scrambled to his feet and came over, to stand on tiptoe and peer at the contents of the table.

‘I want somefin to eat.’

Loveday stubbed out her cigarette in a handy saucer, stooped and hoisted him up onto her knee. She pressed a kiss on the top of his thick dark hair, and with her arms encircling him, buttered a slice of saffron bread and gave it to him.

He munched noisily, staring, unblinking, at Judith. She smiled at him. ‘I meant to bring you a present, Nat, but there wasn't a shop. Next time I come I'll bring you something. What would you like?’

‘I like a car.’

‘What, a little car?’

‘No. A big car what I can get inside.’

Loveday laughed. ‘You're a boy for the main chance, aren't you? Judith can't buy you a
car.
’

Judith ruffled his head. She said, ‘Don't listen to your mother. I can do anything I want.’

By the time tea was over it was well past five o'clock. Judith said, ‘I really must go. Biddy and Phyllis will be wondering what's happened to me, imagining terrible dramas with Jess.’

‘It was lovely seeing you. Thanks for coming.’

‘I'm glad I did. Next time, I'll do
all
the ironing.’ She went to retrieve her raincoat. ‘And you must bring Nat up to The Dower House one day. For lunch or something.’

‘We'd like that. Wouldn't we, Nat? Judith, you won't say a word, will you? About what I've told you.’

‘Not a word. But you must keep on talking to me.’

‘I'll do that.’